


Flattery

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dancing, M/M, POV Molly Hooper, Rugby Captain John, Secret Relationship/New Relationship (ambiguous), Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 14:58:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11739417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Well, I know that you’re in love with him‘Cause I saw you dancing in the gymYou both kicked off your shoesMan, I dig those rhythm and blues”-American Pieby Don McLeanA Molly POV one-shot where she finds out about Sherlock and John’s relationship.Inspired by the first three lines of the above stanza fromAmerican Pie.





	Flattery

Walking around the corner towards the old gymnasium of the school, with its dull floor that must have once been shiny and slippery, Molly wondered briefly why she was doing this. 

As the scuffed toe of her boot nearly caught on a cracked tile, a scrap of paper flew from the notebook clutched to chest. A single crease ran along middle from where it had been haphazardly folded before being given to her along with a rare smile. She bent down to pick it up, and glanced at it, though there was need to; she’d memorized it almost the moment she’d received it. 

_Need access to the labs after hours today.  
See you’ve gotten a new haircut; it looks quite nice._

_S.H._

That was all it took from him, a simple, off-hand compliment that she might receive from a casual acquaintance, perhaps from the girl at the coffee shop around the corner that she frequents everyday before school. He wasn’t like that, though. He was different. He didn’t believe in social conventions like being polite, or catering to those with lower levels of intelligence than him, which was practically everyone - he was brilliant and gorgeous. He didn’t tend to talk to people; Molly was one of a small handful of people that he talked to. He only really ever spoke to her, a boy in the year ahead of them, Greg Lestrade, and, when forced to, his own older brother. Molly knew all her friends laughed behind her back, and sometimes not behind her back, about her crush on the ‘sociopath,’ and if she was being honest, there was no reason why she should be so infatuated with him. When asked, her only response was, ‘Because he’s Sherlock.’ 

Molly slowed down as she finally reached the heavy metal doors of the gym. They were old and covered with dents and gouges from lord knew what, and they sent a shiver down her spine. There were small glass windows, but they had been clouded and dirtied with age and decades worth of teenager’s fingers, so she couldn’t see through them as she stood there, trying to gather her nerves to open the door. She’d been able to get permission to use the labs for a research project, which she had to admit didn’t actually exist, this afternoon so that Sherlock could use the labs because the science teacher, Mr. Murray, thought she was a stellar student, one of his favourites. His other favourite was actually everyone’s favourite. The blond haired, blue eyed, Captain of the Rugby Team got straight As, was kind to everyone, stopped his team from bullying anyone, and always had a moment to reply if you greeted him. All of Molly’s friends had a crush on this school heartthrob. The only curious thing was that he’d never had a girlfriend, though not for lack of trying on the female student body’s part. He was kind to all of his suitors, but never accepted. Molly shook her head to clear it, John didn’t matter, Sherlock did. Sherlock, who, if Greg was to be believed was behind the very doors which Molly was about to push open. 

_Click._

The faint click of the door seemed to ring out like an alarm to Molly’s ears. She pushed the door open slowly, and was rewarded by a nearly silent swing. Suddenly, the sound of two people talking in hushed whispers escalated to the clearly audible sound of laughter. As she stepped out from around the bleachers, letting the door close quietly behind her, she nearly dropped her notebook. Her first thought was that she must be going insane. She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them, everything was still the same. Her heart plummeted to her boots; she might as well have lifted her foot and stomped on it - it wouldn’t have hurt any more than it did right then.

Sherlock was certainly in the gym, but he wasn’t sulking as Molly had assumed. Instead he was spinning across the gym floor and through the air as his face was adorned with a small smile and his eyes were filled with a tender light she’d never even entertained seeing in his eyes. Her heart nearly stopped when he stopped moving, his socked feet sliding slightly. His dance partner was standing pressed to him, feet encased only in a pair of blue and gold striped knee high socks; muddied rugby boots, which were still caked in drying mud from the pitches, had been kicked off and lay disregarded next to Sherlock’s own ridiculous dress shoes. 

When their lips met, and Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed, Molly felt something warm and wet trail down her cheek. She moved to roughly wipe it away as she backed away and through the doors. It really said something that Sherlock, the ever-observant genius, was too wrapped up in his dancing rugby player to even register the click of the door. 

Perhaps she was just flattering herself, and he just didn’t deem it important enough to acknowledge.


End file.
